Willa
I can still feel it.
The warmth of his mouth, the way everything else disappeared for a second—like the whole town held its breath just for us. I keep replaying it, every tiny detail, like if I think about it enough, I can step back into that moment and relive it.
I… I want more of Brooks. I want to see him again.
Not across the orchard or over a stack of crates or from opposite sides of a rivalry—but I want him.
I want to hold his hand. Get to know more about his upbringing, where he grew up, who his parents were.
I want to be close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss him again and see if it feels just as impossible and perfect the second time.
The thought makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.
The radio clicks softer, the music fading into the background as Patty reaches over and turns the dial down.
The sudden quiet pulls me out of my thoughts.
Then, without taking her eyes off the road, she says quietly, "So..."
I stare out the passenger window. "So."
"You kissed him."
Heat blooms all the way to the tips of my ears. “What? I...you…" I clear my throat. "You saw that?"
She lets out a soft laugh. "Honey." One word. Equal parts affection and don't insult my intelligence. "The two of you were standing behind a booth wrapped in Christmas lights."
“Autumn lights,” I correct her, then cover my face with one hand.
"Whatever. You don’t exactly need to be an intuitive to put two and two together here. It wasn't exactly subtle,” she adds.
"I thought we were hidden!”
"You were…” She smiles. “Sort of.”
A groan escapes before I can stop it. "Oh, this is horrible."
"No." Her voice is gentle enough that I look over. "No, sweetheart." She reaches across the center console and gives my hand a quick squeeze. "I don't think it is. I think it’s kind of wonderful."
Silence settles between us for a mile or two.
The tires hum over the pavement while Orchard Falls slips past the windows, every porch glowing with pumpkins and mums, every maple tree looking like it caught fire without burning down.
Finally, I whisper, "I don't know what I'm doing."
"No one ever does when it comes to matters of the heart.”
"I kissed the man who's trying to beat us."
Patty smiles to herself. "Except didn’t you explicitly say he isn’t trying to do that?”
I sigh. “Well, not in the town. But he’s trying to beat us in the competition.”
Patty shrugs. “So what?”
"So what?” I repeat. Is she crazy?
"I think..." She takes a slow breath, choosing her words with the kind of care only mothers seem capable of. "I think you finally allowed yourself to stop thinking about the orchard for once. You finally allowed yourself to do something for Willa and Willa alone.”
I let that sit for a moment.
She’s right. I’ve given my whole life to this orchard; to my legacy. I’ve been on dates, but I’ve never had time to pursue anything long lasting or real. "I've spent weeks telling myself he's the enemy."
"And how's that working out for you?"
A reluctant laugh slips out. "Not great."
"No." She smiles. "I've noticed."
I lean my head back against the seat. "I don't know how to separate any of it."
"You might not have to."
I turn toward her but she keeps her eyes on the road.
"Some people walk into your life to challenge you," she says softly.
"Some walk into your life to teach you something.
" She glances at me then, her smile warm enough to make my throat tighten.
"And every once in a while..." She reaches over again, squeezing my hand.
"...someone walks into your life that you were never meant to compete with in the first place. "
I swallow hard.
Because somehow... that possibility feels far more terrifying than the competition ever did.
“But we each own orchards. Down the street from each other. How could we ever build a life together when our dreams simultaneously overlap and are at odds with each other?”
She merely shrugs. “Life has a funny way of working these things out. Just take it one step at a time.”
I stare back out the windshield as Orchard Falls slips by in flashes of orange and gold, the storefronts growing fewer the closer we get to home.
One step at a time.
It sounds so simple.
But tomorrow I'll walk back into Brooks Calder's orchard, look him in the eyes after kissing him beneath a string of festival lights, and somehow pretend everything is normal.
For the first time all week...
I have absolutely no idea what my next step is.
The next morning, I make it exactly forty-three minutes before I can’t take it anymore.
Forty-three minutes of pretending yesterday didn’t happen.
Forty-three minutes of discussing inventory and festival signage and whether the maple bourbon reserve needed another case brought upstairs.
Forty-three minutes of Brooks Calder looking at me like I’m simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing he’s ever had to face.
It’s unbearable.
The tasting room isn’t open to the public yet. Jace took a truck into town to restock the community hall. Evan is running the Calder Cider booth today.
For the first time all morning...
It’s just us.
Brooks is in the barrel room, checking labels on the competition batches.
The space is cooler than the tasting room, the air rich with oak, apples, and the sweet, yeasty perfume of cider quietly coming into itself. Dust motes drift lazily through the shafts of sunlight spilling in from the high windows, turning the room into something almost sacred.
Rows of barrels stretch around us like old sentries.
The whole room hums with patience.
With time.
With things that can't be rushed.
Maybe that's why it feels so fitting.
Brooks doesn't notice me at first.
He's bent over a clipboard, pencil tucked behind one ear, brow furrowed in concentration.
I watch him longer than I should. The broad line of his shoulders beneath his flannel. The sleeves pushed to his forearms. The way he absently rubs his thumb along the edge of a barrel while he's thinking. It's astonishing how quickly someone can become familiar.
"You've been staring at me for at least thirty seconds."
His voice startles a laugh out of me. "You counted?"
"I estimated." He finally turns with a small smile. A careful smile. Like he's afraid too much happiness might scare me away. "What is it?" he asks.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
Because I'd planned to be witty. I'd planned to make a joke.
Instead… "Are we just... not going to talk about it?"
His expression softens instantly. "Our kiss?"
Heat rushes into my cheeks, but I force myself to nod. "Unless you kissed some other woman last night. In which case… we definitely need to talk about that.”
A quiet laugh escapes him and he shakes his head. "Just one woman. Though I was hoping there would be more where that came from with her.”
My heart does the most embarrassing little somersault.
He sets the clipboard down but neither of us moves. "We probably should talk about it," he says.
"We probably should."
Another beat passes. "So..." I fold my arms, more for something to do than because I'm cold. "Was it real?"
His forehead creases. "Willa..."
Heat burns in my cheeks. "I know how ridiculous that sounds."
He takes one slow step toward me. "It sounds like someone who's trying very hard not to get hurt."
The words steal every clever response I'd been clinging to. "I keep wondering if I imagined half of yesterday," I admit.
"You didn't."
"You didn't wake up this morning wishing it hadn't happened?"
He closes the remaining distance between us until only inches remain. "No." The answer is as certain as it is immediate. "I woke up wishing Marcy had shown up about five minutes later."
I laugh before I can stop myself. "So did I."
Silence settles around us again. His eyes hold mine with a steadiness that makes my chest ache. "I've spent weeks trying not to fall for you,” he says.
I don't realize I've reached for his hand until my fingers find his. They're warm. Familiar even though they shouldn’t be.
When his thumb brushes lightly across my knuckles, goosebumps lift on my arms, racing over my skin. "I don't know how this works," I confess. "We own competing orchards."
"I know."
"Our booths are literally across from each other."
"I noticed."
“We’re in a legal battle over land,” I sigh.
“I’m aware,” he says.
"My grandfather already thinks you're trying to steal our customers."
A grin tugs at his mouth. "I'm beginning to think your grandfather believes I steal everything."
I pause and slowly look into his eyes. “I think he’s most worried that you’ve stolen me.”
Brooks’ expression shifts, the teasing fades. "Willa..." The way he says my name—quiet, careful—pulls the air right out of my lungs. “That might be the only thing your grandfather is actually correct about.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of everything unsaid settles between us, heavier than the silence we've been dancing around all morning.
"If this is a terrible idea," I say softly, "I'd rather find that out because we’re honest with each other."
His free hand comes up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. "I don't think honesty is ever the terrible part." His fingertips linger against my cheek.
Outside, somewhere beyond the thick stone walls, I can hear the distant rumble of a tractor. Life goes on. Apples wait to be pressed. Tomorrow we'll stand on opposite sides of the biggest competition of the year.
But in here...
There is only Brooks.
Only the warmth of his hand around mine.
Only the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious instead of impossible.
"I've wanted to kiss you again since the second I stopped, how’s that for honesty?” he says.
Instead of answering, I rise onto my toes and close the last inch between us myself. This kiss is slower. Deeper. With no surprises, no interruptions.
Just two stubborn orchard owners finally surrendering to the truth they've both been trying to outwork.